


Fragile Things

by SilverShadow1711



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, fluffy friendship, totally my head canon, young emmeryn and young gangrel being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShadow1711/pseuds/SilverShadow1711
Summary: Emmeryn was certain even Naga Herself could not have understood the domino effect of fate that would transpire after one chance encounter... A fluffy story about friendship in trying times





	Fragile Things

Title- Fragile Things

Rating- K

A/N- Man, this is a SUPER old fanfic, one that I wrote YEARS ago. It was kind of... not great, so I made some revisions and rewrote some parts.

000000000000

 

The sands of Plegia were blinding. And hot, so very hot. In her long gown, as pretty as it was with it's golden embroidery, Emmeryn felt as though she were being roasted alive. Everywhere she looked, all she saw was sand, shimmering as the sun beat down on it. An occasional rock or scrub bush was all that broke up the monotony of the view. It was terrifying. She had no idea how she had even gotten separated from her father's retinue. The small platoon of soldiers that had been accompanying the exalt had stopped to rest in a small oasis. Emmeryn, who had only just celebrated her eleventh birthday, had been all but dragged along, for her father insisted that she needed to learn things like negotiating and foreign diplomacy now, rather than when it was too late. The young princess had tutors for things like that, but the exalt insisted that first hand experience trumped anything she could learn in books. After all, no amount of text could prepare one for dealing with those savage Feroxi barbarians up north.

 

What the exalt wished, he would of course get, so Emmeryn had to trudge through the burning, shifting sands along with the company of grown men who were having just as much difficulty. The oasis had been a blessed relief, like a small slice of heaven amidst hell. She had taken off her slippers and dipped her feet into a small spring, giggling in delight. Never again would she take for granted the cool gardens of the palace in Yillstol. Under the shade of a date tree, with the air so mild and the cooling waves lapping at her ankles, the princess had dozed off. Perhaps her father and the soldiers had assumed she'd climbed into the caravan again, because when she next opened her eyes, the sun was setting, painting the landscape a dazzling gold. And she was alone. Pulling her shoes back on, the young girl ran from the oasis, calling out for her father, the royal guards, anyone. But her voice only carried so far across the stretch of sands before it died on the faint breeze. She was all alone, trapped in hostile enemy territory.

 

She'd heard all about the Plegians, and nothing anyone had to say about them was any good. They were monsters who worshiped the demon, Grima. They feasted on human flesh during their evil rituals and sometimes kidnapped Yillsean children to sacrifice to their heathen god. Everyone said so, especially her father when he was sending decrees for more men to enlist. Emmeryn did not want to be sacrificed to anything, but she didn't know what to do to avoid such a fate. Tired, dusty and thirsty, she sat down on the sand in the shadow of a large rock. Tears that had been burning her eyes the whole time she'd been walking now dripped down her cheeks, falling onto her dress. It was green, her mother's favorite color. Her mother wouldn't have let her get lost, she would've made sure Emmeryn was with the platoon before allowing them to leave, but... her mother had gone to Naga over a year ago. Sniffling, she brought her knees to her chest and rested her head on them. Her father would be furious if he saw her acting so weak, so unbecoming of a future exalt...

 

“Oi! You there! Get away from my stage!” The girl started, looking around frantically for the source of the voice. It sounded like a boy, reminding her of one of the newest squires, a Fred... something. But the accent was so strange, so thick, unlike anything she'd ever heard before. “Up here, stupid girl!”

 

Blinking, Emmeryn craned her neck back and found herself looking up at a dark boy in strange attire. He was standing on the rock that was currently serving as her backrest, frowning down at her in a rather annoyed manner. He had to be a Plegian. The thought sent chills down her spine, and she scrambled to her feet, in no desire to make him mad. After all, who knew what savages did to fair maidens like her when they were angry? Once she had scurried a fair distance away, the boy's expression change, to an almost haughty smirk.

 

“Good. Now feast your eyes and be amazed!” The princess had no idea what he was talking about, but could only stand and stare blankly as the boy leapt up, tumbling through the air in a rather complicated looking flip. As he landed on the sand a few feet from where she had been sitting, he stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his footing, throwing his arms out. “Ta da!” He fixed her with a sharp look and she flinched.

 

“Applaud.”

“Huh?” In all her life, that was undoubtedly the most undignified thing that had ever escaped Emmeryn's lips. Her presence tutor would've struck her across the knuckles for being so flustered. The boy walked over to her, his steps so fast she had no time to even think of escaping. He grabbed her wrists, and the younger girl felt her heart hammer in her chest. Was he going to rape her? She didn't know what “rape” was, but she knew that it was a horrible thing savages like the Plegians did to good, nice girls like her. Instead, the boy brought her hands together several times, forcing her to... clap.

 

“Applaud, please!” He repeated, smiling widely. He had very white teeth, she noticed, though they looked quite a bit sharper than she had seen on any other boy. “Applause for the magnificent Gangrel!”

 

Finally understanding what this strange boy, this self-proclaimed “Magnificent Gangrel” wanted, the princess slowly clapped several times as he released her wrists. Pleased with her tepid response, the boy bowed deeply, as if he were truly on a stage, rather than the shifting sands.

 

“Thank you, thank you, it was nothing!” Standing upright once more, he looked back to her, still smiling though his eyes were sharp, appraising her. Emmeryn had never seen a real Plegian before, only the pictures drawn in pamphlets urging people to take up arms against them. This boy looked nothing like the misshapen demons artists were commissioned to draw. He looked... normal, for the most part. Like a human, not a demon, though there _were_ some differences between him and the people of Yillse. His skin was a pale gray, as if he had been rubbed with fine ash; perhaps that was what made his teeth seem so white. His hair, a wild crop of unruly curls, was the deep red of the wine her father drank at dinner. His eyes were the same color.

 

“You aren't from here, girl.” He said bluntly, his accent so thick she could barely make out was he was saying. He rolled his R's a lot. “Are you from Yillse? You look like you're from Yillse; only Yillseans have hair like that.” Reaching out, he grabbed one of the long curls that hung over her shoulders. Despite her fear, Emmeryn was still royalty, and would not tolerate having strange people touch her so familiarly, _especially_ not Plegians.

“Don't touch me like that!” She snapped at him, drawing back in a huff. She had been expecting him to get mad, to perhaps strike her the way one of her father's courtiers had done one time, but the boy, Gangrel, simply shrugged, lacing his fingers behind his head.

 

“What are you doing here, Yillsean? Don't you know there's a war going on?” Yes, she knew that very well; the stupid war was the only reason she was in the hellish sand trap in the first place, rather than back home with Chrom and Lissa like she wanted to be. Her fear from before came back, and she sniffled, tears welling in her eyes before she could even think to stop them.

 

“I'm lost...” She whispered. In hindsight, she would've realized how foolish it was to tell anything to the enemy, especially something that could be used against her kingdom, but at that moment, she was no great political thinker. Just a sad, scared little girl. “We stopped to take a break at the oasis, and I fell asleep and when I woke up, everyone was gone. I don't know where my father is...” Sniffling even more, Emmeryn felt her face crumple as she began crying in earnest. Even though the exalt was cold and strict, she at least felt safer at his side than lost in the Plegian desert.

 

“Eh... don't cry, girl. It's okay.” A hand patted her on the shoulder and she stopped weeping long enough to look up. Gangrel looked almost as nervous as she felt; it probably wasn't everyday foreign princesses started crying at him. “Now I get it. You were traveling with merchants, right? To Ferox?” That hadn't been at all what she was saying, but she was too confused to try and correct him. Taking her silence for affirmation, the boy nodded. “Merchants are the only Yillseans who ever come through Plegia without their swords drawn; my mother says it's because the exalt's taxes are too high for them.” It had just begun to dawn on Emmeryn that perhaps his flawed assumption was better for her. After all, she had overheard plenty of people saying that Plegians would love to go after the royal family; they would make good bartering chips. No one cared about poor merchants. And her father _had_ been heading to Ferox... The princess nodded slowly. She'd been taught not to lie, but this wasn't really a lie; she just... wasn't correcting him.

 

“We _were_ going to Ferox. Do you know how I can get there?”

“Sure. You go north, then north, then north again until you hit snow. If you see the ocean, you went too far.” Gangrel laughed at his own joke, but the princess frowned slightly. Well, yes, she knew Ferox was to the north, but the problem was, she had no idea which direction north _was._ Everything looked the same in the desert.

 

“Well... do you know which way is north?” Dark red eyes widened, incredulous.

“You aren't thinking about going there now, are you? By yourself? It's getting dark!”

“I have to find my father.”

“Ha! You'll find nothing but the afterlife; only stupid people walk through the desert in the dark. You'd get eaten by jackals and Wyverns!” Emmeryn cringed at the thought; she seen pictures of Wyverns in books, hideous things that less civilized people tamed to ride into battle. She didn't want to get eaten. Oh, this trip was turning out to be the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life. Sniffling again, she looked down, twisting the cloth of her dress between her fingers.

 

“But... how will I find my father? How will I get home?” She did not want to cry again, but she felt like she had no choice. Gangrel once again put his hand on her shoulder. She should've scolded him for being so forward (she was royalty; you did _not_ touch royalty unless they requested it), but the truth was, there was something comforting in the slight weight of his hand. Besides, it didn't seem like he was trying to be disrespectful- he didn't know she was a princess, after all.

“Don't worry. My mother will know what to do. She know everything. Come on, I'll take you to her.” He slipped his hand off her shoulder, only to tightly grab her own hand instead. Emmeryn barely had time to begin to protest before he ran, dragging her along with him the way Lissa dragged her dolls as she toddled around the palace. Her feet slipped on the sand, sending her stumbling over the hem of her gown.

 

“S-slow down!” She whined. Gangrel looked back at her over his shoulder and smirked.

“No. You keep up. I don't want to get eaten by Wyverns either, you know.” Had she not been struggling with every step, the Yillsean girl might've come to the conclusion that getting eaten was a kinder fate than being led into a Plegian stronghold, but she was too busy trying not to trip to focus on such thoughts.

 

“Hey.” He said suddenly, not slowing down at all, though. “I just remembered, I never asked your name, girl.” That was right; she had had been so distraught (not to mention confused) that she hadn't even thought to introduce herself. For a second, she wondered if it was safe to tell him who she was, but quickly reasoned that he thought she was a merchant. It wasn't unheard of for the smallfolk to name their children after great nobility.

“I... I'm Emmeryn.” The boy looked over his shoulder once more- how he did not trip in the sand, not looking where he was going, was beyond her. His eyes were once again scrutinizing, but that passed quickly, and he smiled once more.

 

“Emmeryn. That's a pretty name.” He faced forward again, picking up his pace even more. “You already know that I am the magnificent Gangrel.” Gangrel's hand was larger than hers, his nails long enough to dig into the tender flesh of her palms. She couldn't tell how old he was- she didn't know any boys beside her little brother, but if she had to guess, she would say he was maybe fifteen or sixteen. That wasn't really a boy- it was almost a man. When she turned fifteen, her father would expect her to enter into a marriage he had arranged. Fortunately, four years was a long time...

000

 

Given all she had heard about what kind of savages Plegians were, Emmeryn had painted a vivid picture in her mind of what she expected a Plegian village to look like. Huge bonfires with people turning on spits over them. Evil looking priests using human bones to summon dark magic and drinking blood. Monsters praying to Grima to destroy all the Yillseans. When Gangrel finally led her to a sprawling encampment, the princess had thought initially that he'd made a wrong turn somewhere. After all, how could Plegians live so... normally? Granted, there were no houses, but rather, large tents and colorful wagons. There were fires, but they were small, the same kinds the soldiers in her father's platoon used for cooking.

 

The people outside, men, women, and children, did not look all that different from Yillseans. Their clothes were stranger, most of them wearing long, dark robes over the same baggy pants Gangrel wore. Their skin, she noticed, was much darker than his, however, some of their complexions such a dark gray it seemed almost black. Their hair, too, was black, and straight. In fact, as he dragged her through the settlement, Emmeryn's savior seemed almost as out of place as she did. As he passed people, the adults whispered to one another behind their hands while the children laughed and jeered outright. One group of young boys, perhaps five or six, pointed at her, laughing raucously enough that she knew they were taunting her. The princess had never been jeered at before. She was used to crowds cheering and beaming at her in adoration. All at once, that overwhelming sense of fear felt as if it would overtake her again, until the hand closed around her tightened it's grip.

 

“Ignore them. They are chaff.” Even though she could not see Gangrel's face, his voice sounded upset. “That is what my mother tells me; they mock because they are ignorant. They are scared of anything that is different, because they are stupid.” Emmeryn was tempted to ask if he meant that she was different, or him, but ultimately kept silent in the end.

 

The Plegian boy led her further and further from the camp, until there were no wagons but one, all the way at what must've been the outskirts of them settlement. It was small, painted red and purple, with strange symbols she had never seen adorning the frame. A fire burned outside, and she could see a woman emerge from the flap that led inside. She was very tall and thin, wearing long black and gold robes. Her skin was very dark, and she wore her long, gray-streaked hair beneath a veil. Everything about her reminded Emmeryn of the witches she had read about in books, from her red eyes to her long nails. But as she stepped out of the wagon, she smiled very warmly, her eyes creasing around the corners.

 

“I see you've finally come home, my little wanderer. And what have you brought back with you this time?” Despite the princess's wish to stay back, Gangrel pulled her closer so the woman could get a better look.

“This is Emmeryn. I found her in the desert. She got separated from her caravan; they're merchants heading to Ferox.”

 

The woman, who must've been Gangrel's mother, leaned down slightly, her red eyes slowly taking in the young girl's appearance. She could feel those eyes lingering on her brand, and wished that she had combed her hair over it (her father had never allowed that, always insisting that she wore her hair back or parted so everyone could see her claim to the throne). Her son may not have realized who she was, but there was no way this woman did not know a princess of Yillse stood before her. Every horrible thing she'd ever been told about the Plegians ran through Emmeryn's mind at that moment. She was certain she'd never see her family again. The stories of them weaving carpets from hair and making dolls out of human skin and teeth filled her thoughts, and she could feel her hands start to tremble. A gentle hand patted her on the head, before slender fingers, smelling of vanilla and herbs and wood smoke, gently grasped her chin, forcing her to look up. The woman's eyes were as kind and gentle as her hands as she smiled at the girl.

 

“Poor girl...” She whispered, her quiet voice just as thickly accented as her son's. “You must've been so afraid, lost and all alone. You are very brave; I'm sure your father is very proud of you...” The woman removed her hand and straightened. “There is an outpost not far from our camp; I'm certain your... caravan... will pass by it on their way to Ferox. Gangrel will take you there in the morning. It's too late to travel now,” she said, answering the question on Emmeryn's tongue. “Only death awaits those who travel these sands by night. You can stay here for the night; we do not have much, but we are more than happy to share what we _do_ have.”

 

The girl's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. So there was hope for her yet. All she had to do was reach that outpost, and then she would be reunited with her father. Happiness welled inside of her, banishing all the fear that had been lingering in the corners of her mind the whole time. Feeling more like her old self, Emmeryn dipped into a curtsy- it seemed foolish, wasting royal gestures on savages who probably didn't understand them in the first place, but she had been taught that one must always mind their manners.

 

“Thank you for your hospitality, madam. I appreciate all you and your son have done for me.” Much to her surprise, Gangrel laughed loudly at her words. Hurt and angered, she scowled at him. “What are you laughing at?”

“You! What do you think this is, a royal banquet filled with lords and ladies?” He dipped into a mock curtsy as well- even though he was ridiculing her, Emmeryn had to admit he was actually quite poised. “ 'Oh, thank you, your highness! You are much too kind!' Gwahaha!” The Plegian boy had a strange, giggling laugh. In contrast to her growing anger, his mother remained calm, picking up a large jug by the side of the wagon and handing it to him.

 

“Since you have so much energy, perhaps you can go fetch some water from the well.” Despite her soft tone, there was a hint of sternness behind her words, one that Gangrel immediately picked up on, silencing his laughter at once. Suddenly abashed, he took the jug from her.

“Yes, mother.” Turning on his heel, he dashed back towards the more crowded part of the encampment, leaving Emmeryn alone with the older woman. Even though she knew Plegians were not to be trusted under any circumstances, no matter who they were, she had felt more at ease with someone closer to her own age around.

 

“You needn't be so fearful, young princess.” The soft spoken words caused her to jump slightly, looking up at the woman. She was no longer smiling, but she didn't look threatening. Far from it; she seemed sad, a worn down, weary sorrow that Emmeryn had seen in the faces of widows who's husbands had been killed in the war. “No harm will come to you here.” As much as she would've liked to believe something like that, the princess knew she did not have the luxury of letting her guard down.

 

“You may say that, but--”

“But? But what? What have you heard about us, I wonder, that makes you so inimical to those that have done nothing but offer you aid? Do you think us cannibals who plan on sacrificing you to our dark god?” Though the woman's tone had not changed, though there was naught but hurt and quiet exasperation in her voice, Emmeryn still cringed. Yes, that was exactly what she had been thinking, but she could not bring herself to say such a thing out loud. It shouldn't have bothered her so much; after all, everyone said it was true. The woman continued speaking.

“Words do not easily sway the minds of people, young princess. Actions, however, are very powerful. Though you are free to believe what you will, I would ask that you consider judging our people based on their actions rather than hearsay.” Pulling a rug from the steps leading up to the wagon, the woman stretched it out over the sand. “You should rest- the desert is not kind to outsiders. I will be inside preparing dinner. If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

 

The princess watched silently as the mother walked back into the wagon, only turning away once the flaps stopped swaying. Her exhaustion was finally catching up to her, and she gingerly lowered herself to the ground. In the distance, she could hear people talking and laughing, could see the smoke rising from their fires. The sight made her gut clench as she remembered sitting in front of the large fire in the hearth of her parent's room last year.

 

Lissa hadn't been born yet, though their mother's belly was already stretching out the fabric of her gown. Chrom, only four, had already been jealous of the new baby and had somehow wriggled his way onto their mother's lap despite there hardly being any lap left. She had been much more mature, sitting close to the window and reading from one of their father's favorite cantos. He had been off at a war council, leaving his family by themselves, as happened more often than not. It had been snowing, she remembered that. Blinking away her tears, Emmeryn looked down, away from the happy people, opting instead to trace the colorful designs of the rug. They didn't have carpets like that in Yillse, so ornate and elaborate. It seemed wrong that such evil people could make such beautiful things.

000

 

When he returned from fetching water, Gangrel at once set about helping his mother with dinner preparations, tending the fire and cutting the meat. Emmeryn felt strangely uneasy sitting about while other people did all the work. It was odd; she'd never felt like that before. But perhaps that was because, back in Yillistol, she had never actually _seen_ mealtime preparations. All she knew was that, when she was hungry, there was food. She knew there were cooks, and kitchens, but she had never actually seen either of those things. Unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, she timidly asked if she could do anything to help. Gangrel had laughed at her again, though not that derisive cackle from before. It wasn't a guest's place to do work, he'd explained. Why- did people expect their guests to pitch in in Yillse? She'd shaken her head. As far as the nobility was concerned, no one was expected to do anything, ever. That was what servants were for, after all. She didn't know about the lower classes, though.

 

The air was soon filled with an intoxicating aroma, not just from the nearby fire, but from the entire encampment, the scent of everyone's dinners mingling and wafting about. There were so many different smells it was dizzying, but she caught hint of the same herbs and spices from almost every direction. Not that she knew what any of them were; she had never smelled anything remotely like them before, a far cry from the pepper and salt she knew to season food. Despite her being adamant that she would not eat heathen food, Emmeryn felt her resolve waver dangerously as a plate was set in front of her, meat crusted with herbs and rice with little flecks in it, the juices pooling under everything and smelling better than any food she'd ever been presented with before. Spreading another, larger blanket out in front of her, Gangrel began setting more plates on the ground, each filled with food she'd never dreamed of before, each dish smelling better than the last. His mother sat down across from her, unwrapping a cloth bundle to reveal flat white discs, still giving off steam. It took a long time before she realized it was bread; she was used to bread being plump golden brown loaves or buns. Finally setting everything in it's place, the Plegian boy threw himself down beside her.

 

“What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?”

“I... I, um...” She glanced up at his expectant face and felt a sinking sensation in her stomach; how could she possible tell the truth, 'Sorry, but I don't trust your heathen food'? “...I don't know what anything is...” She whispered in a small voice. Gangrel smiled widely, his sharp teeth prominently displayed. If that was the problem, he was more than happy to explain.

 

Dish by dish, he told the young princess what everything was as he fixed another plate, handing it to his mother (in Plegia, it was the custom to prepare food for someone else, and they would do the same for you). The meat was lamb, and the spices were things like cumin and coriander and saffron, plants she'd never heard of before. There was hummus to dip the pita in, and falafel and labaneya... Emmeryn had never been as excited about food as that; as far as she was concerned, it was just another aspect of life, like clothes and a bed. His mother explained, with a gentle smile, that she had prepared everything she had the means to make; after all, it wasn't every day they had dinner guests, much less Ylissean guests. It was humble fare, but they hoped she would enjoy it. Spurred on by the guilt that statement brought (and unable to ignore the growling in her stomach any longer) Emmeryn slowly lifted as chunk of meat to her lips. Apparently, things like cutlery weren't part of the Plegian culture- everything was meant to be eaten with one's fingers.

 

Her father would have been furious with her, for daring to fall into an enemy's trap. The food was probably poisoned... though it certainly didn't taste like poison. Perhaps it was just because she was so hungry, but the spices and juices that flowed down her throat from the tender lamb tasted as ambrosia to her. It was very easy to forget about decorum when one was starving, especially when they were already eating with their fingers. Back home in Yillstol, she had been taught to never eat everything set before her- have a bite of this, a sip of that. Such manners were often necessary, as Yillsean meals carried many courses, but they were more often than not the same, standard fare she'd eaten every day. Everything before her now was new and wonderful and delicious, and she found herself cleaning her plate twice over.

 

Being full brought with it a sense of contentment, and Emmeryn found herself stretching out on the rug, her eyelids growing heavy. The desert air was growing colder, as it always did at night, but she was close enough to the fire that it warded off the worst of the chill. As the older woman took the dishes back inside the wagon to wash them, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips, her son moved to sit closer to the princess, stretching out as well.

 

“I guess you were pretty hungry, huh?” She nodded silently. When she wasn't angry or afraid, she realized that Gangrel's accent was quite pleasing to the ear, the inflection and trilling of certain syllables making simple sentences sound almost musical to her. His mother spoke like that as well- she wondered if all Plegians had the same accent, or was that native only to a certain part of the desert land. The older boy remained silent for a long time, his voice quieter when he next spoke.

“I almost wasn't expecting you to eat anything. Most Yillseans wouldn't. They say we're heathens, cannibals... They just think they're better than us because they all worship Naga...” His tone turned bitter towards the end, and Emmeryn found herself looking at him. His brows were drawn together tightly, the scowl he wore making him look much older than he was. She liked him better when he was smiling and laughing. Swallowing, she spoke up, just as quietly as him, a thought that had been weighing on hr mind for some time.

 

“But... don't you worship Grima?” Gangrel scoffed sharply.

“No!” He spat, his voice filled with contempt. “Don't lump me in with those crazy Grimleal. Everyone knows they're insane. Just because I'm Plegian doesn't mean I want the word to end in a rain of fire. You know why the Grimleal worship Grima, right?” He turned to her, honestly expecting an answer. Her first thought was because they were evil, but she knew that would only anger him, so she shook her head. “It's because the prophecies say that when He returns, those who worship Him get the _supreme_ honor of dying first, before the world gets plunged into darkness.” The boy laid down on the blanket, looking up at the stars. In the clear air of the desert, they seemed to shine brighter than she was used to in Yillstol. Picking at a loose thread on her dress, Emmeryn quietly whispered to him.

 

“But... why would anyone want that to happen in the first place?”

“I don't know. You'd have to ask the idiots who actually _do_ want it to happen. My mother says most of them worship Grima out of spite, spite for the servants of Naga who turned against our ancestors. Like, 'If I have to suffer, you're going to suffer too'.” Gangrel inhaled deeply. She could see the way his ribcage expanded beneath his ashen skin, the sight of which caused the heat to rise in her cheeks for some odd reason.

“I don't want anyone to suffer, Plegian or Yillsean. I just want the war to end so we don't have to live in fear any more. Every day, we worry the soldiers will find our caravan. A few days ago, they burned one of our neighboring villages to the ground and killed everyone in it. My mother says that Exalt Magnus wants to completely wipe out all of the desert tribes because _we're_ the ones with the closest ties to Grima. Most of us don't even worship Him!” The boy's voice broke slightly, and he looked away from the sky, off to the side. Curiosity getting the better of her, Emmeryn snuck a peek at him, surprised to see his eyes gleaming in the fire light. He sniffled quietly, and she felt her own eyes prickle with tears.

 

“We don't bother anyone... We just want to be left alone to live our lives in peace. Why is that so much to ask?”

“...I don't know...” She whispered, completely honest for the first time since she had met this strange boy.

 

Her father's reasons for the war had always seemed rather... thin. He insisted that the Plegians were evil fiends who needed to be destroyed at all costs, but so far, everything she had learned about the strange desert dwellers seemed blatantly false. True, she had only met two Plegians, but they were both kind and hospitable. Maybe there were evil Plegians, but as far as she was concerned, there were evil Yillseans, too (most notably, many of her father's courtiers). Was it really the right thing to do, to punish everyone simply because of the actions of a few people? It wasn't her place to ask such things, however; the exalt did not take kindly to people questioning his orders or beliefs. Emmeryn did not like this dreary oppressive mood that had settled over them. She missed the spirited way Gangrel had spoken while they ate- his good mood had been infectious. Desperate to have something more cheerful to discuss, the princess forced herself to smile slightly.

 

“But you know, this war can't last forever. Fighting always stops eventually. What do you want to do after the war?” Her inquisition seemed to pull the older boy from his funk. He grinned at her.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm going to become a player.”

“A player? Like, a jester?”

“Ha! Jesters _wish_ they could be as wonderful as me. I can do acrobatics, I can juggle, I can play the lute _and_ violin; I am amazing!” She had to admit, the little bit of acrobatics she had seen him perform _had_ been impressive, though she had been too distraught to appreciate it at the time. “I will continue honing my skill, and by the time the war is over, I will make my way to the capital and be hired by the king. And when I have a royal salary, I will buy my mother the finest house in the city, and no one will ever call us _gadju diro_ again...” Emmeryn did not know what a Gah-Joo Deer-oh was, but given the contemptuous way he spat the word, it must've been an insult. Perhaps that was why they lived on the outskirts of the encampment, why everybody whispered as he walked past. She smiled a bit more sincerely this time.

 

“I'm certain you'll be hired right away. And maybe you can travel to foreign courts and entertain the sovereigns there, too.”

“Yes... yes! That is exactly what I'll do!” Gangrel's eyes seemed to light up with excitement. “I will travel all over the world, and see everything it has to offer. You should do the same!”

“Huh?” She blinked, utterly bemused. Well, of course she was expected to travel; she had to meet with other rulers--

“You can be a traveling merchant. I've seen those, but the ones I've seen all seem to be sisters or cousins; they all have red hair like mine. Maybe we're related! But if they can do it, you can, too.” That was right, he thought she was a merchant's daughter... For a brief moment, Emmeryn allowed herself the fantasy of casting off her royal mantle, maybe growing bangs to hide her Brand. She thought of traveling the world, taking in things from every corner of the world, Feroxi steel and pelts, Chon'sin tea and silks, bartering for other goods with Yillsean jewels... The thought of spending every night like this, under a canopy of stars, warmed by delicious foreign cuisine and pleasant company, was tempting indeed. Alas, such dreams would only ever remain just that. Her smile turned sad as she looked back down at the rug.

 

“I don't think my father would let me do such a thing.”

“Oh... Well... he won't be able to boss you around forever, you know. When you get older, you can just do whatever you want, can't you? You'll be an adult- no one will be able to tell you what to do. I know I'm looking forward to that...” Alas, the princess doubted such a day would ever come for her, but she nodded anyway.

“Yes, you're right.” She lied. “One day, my father won't be able to tell me what to do, and I'll do as I please then.”

“That's the spirit!” Gangrel's beaming smile coaxed her back from her melancholy.

 

That night, he and his mother decided to sleep outside, under the stars so that she could have the wagon to herself. Sleeping in a strange place surrounded by strangers would've been hard enough without having bunkmates, the older woman explained with her customary gentle smile as she fixed a pallet for the princess. She was used to sleeping on down and furs, even while traveling, but Emmeryn knew well enough that beggars could not be choosers. Besides, as she settled down in the dark wagon, wondering how such a small space could possibly fit two people, she realized there was something soothing about the space. Clusters of dried herbs hung from the walls, perfuming the air with a savory, spicy aroma. The quilt she had, though threadbare in places, was soft and warm and smelled faintly of vanilla and woodsmoke. It reminded her of her mother. Not the scent; her mother had always smelled of rosewater and ink and faintly of opium in her later years, but rather, being enveloped in someone else's scent. It reminded her of all the times her mother would draw her close for an embrace- always when her father was away or busy- and she would inhale the scent of her mother's gowns and cloaks. Sighing sadly, Emmeryn reminded herself that those days were long since past. She did not remember drifting off to sleep, only that it was peaceful and dreamless.

000

 

Emmeryn was used to waking up early for morning prayers, but the sun was usually completely up by that time, bathing the palace grounds in pastel hues of pink and gold. When she had been roused from her sleep, in those first moments, she couldn't remember where she was. For an instant, she thought she was back home, in her large bed piled high with down comforters and silken pillows, until her bleary eyes took in the unfamiliar interior of the Plegian caravan wagon. The kindly woman who had given her shelter for the night stood over her, the corners of her lips just barely turned up in the semblance of a smile.

 

“You must get up now, young Emmeryn. If you wish to reach the outpost before your father passes it, you will need to leave quickly.” She had almost forgotten about that. Scrambling to her feet, the young girl winced at the aches in her back. She'd never slept on anything so hard before. When she finally returned home, she would say an extra prayer thanking Naga for her soft bed. Outside, the sun had barely begun to rise, the first tendrils of light gilding the undersides of the deep indigo clouds that streaked the sky. Gangrel was waiting outside the wagon, passing his time by turning cartwheels. He stopped, mid roll, on his hands, to look at her. Though his face was half hidden by the baggy shirt that had slipped off his lean torso, Emmeryn could see that he was grinning at her.

 

“There you are, Sleeping Beauty.” He teased in a playful tone. “I was beginning to think I would have to wait until the sun set again before you woke up.”

“I was tired...” She muttered defensively, certain her churlish tone would've earned her a scolding had she been back home. The Plegian boy simply lowered his feet back to the earth- it was both horrifying and amazing that his back could bend like that- and stood up properly to face her, wiping the grit from his hands onto his trousers.

 

“Well, I hope you are rested because it's a fair distance to the outpost. Don't think I'll be carrying you like some kind of princess if you get tired.” He laughed, amused by the thought that such a girl could be royalty, apparently. Emmeryn was half tempted to tell him that she _was_ a princess, and he should consider himself lucky for an opportunity to carry her before remembering how unwise that was. It wasn't as if she'd ever asked to be carried anywhere, anyways. As Gangrel grabbed the straps of two canteens and began heading past the boundaries of the caravan, the Yillsean girl moved to follow him, only to be halted by his mother. She looked up at the older woman, who wore an inscrutable expression on her narrow face.

 

“Yes?” She asked timidly, unable to put any force behind her words. The Plegian woman simply stared at her for a long while, before making a strange gesture over Emmeryn's head, a waving of her hands that ended in an odd bow.

“May the gods be with you, young princess.” She whispered, done with her strange ritual. A bit unnerved, the girl could only nod as she turned, half sprinting to catch up with her guide. It wasn't until the wagon had become a speck in the distance that she realized the woman had blessed her. Servants of Naga did similar things, blessing people and places so that the divine dragon would keep them safe. Emmeryn wasn't sure how she felt about receiving a Plegian blessing; she was certain her father would've demanded she be exorcised at once. It hadn't _seemed_ malicious, so... maybe there wasn't much difference between the country's religions, after all.

000

 

Perhaps it was because she no longer felt the tight coil of fear in her stomach, but Emmeryn found herself walking much easier over the Plegian sands. Granted, Gangrel's strides were still too long for her to match, and she still slipped a bit as the dunes shifted under her feet, but she held her head up rather than tucking it down between her shoulders. The sun was just beginning to give off heat, the first radiant beams of light bearing down on them, but it felt like they had been walking for hours. Trying to swallow despite the dry air, the princess tugged her guide's hand, wordlessly begging him to slow down.

 

“What?” He looked back at her over his shoulder, the tiniest hint of annoyance tinging his voice.

“Are-- are we almost there yet?”

“We just left camp and you're already asking 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet?' You Yilliseans have no stamina. I guess having flying horses carry you everywhere does that to a person...” Emmeryn wanted to inform him that the only people who rode pegasi were the Pegasus Knights, but her mouth was too dry to form the words. Rolling his eyes, Gangrel handed her one of the canteens he carried. Even as she drank deeply, taking great effort not to spill even a single drop (who knew how much longer they'd have to walk, or where else there was water in these hellish sands), the younger girl could not help but notice her companion's churlish expression as he glared down at the sand at his feet. Lowering the canteen and closing it, she tentatively returned it to the boy, and although she had just drunk her fill, her tongue felt drier and heavier than before.

 

“Erm... Gangrel--?”

“Let's go- I need to get you to the outpost before the sun peaks, or we'll be roasted alive.”

 

He grabbed her sleeve- not her hand like he usually did- and began pulling her forward once more. His pace was even quicker this time around, and try as she might to keep up, Emmeryn was not used to having people drag her around so forcefully. Her foot caught on her robes, and with a small cry, she found herself face down in the sand. She had thrown her hands out to catch herself, but all that had accomplished was scraping the tender flesh of her palms. A small part of her wanted to just remain where she was, in the dirt, for no other reason than the fact that it was easier. Easier than constantly bracing herself for her father's fury, easier than remembering the growing discontent of the angry, hungry smallfolk back home in Yillse... easier than having to deal with the previously nice boy who was now inexplicably upset with her for whatever reason. In that moment, she wished she was anything else- a traveling merchant, a Plegian, even sand itself- anything but the miserable heir to the Yillisean throne.

 

She did not have long to mope, however, as surprisingly strong hands grabbed her under her arms, lifting her into a sitting position. Gangrel's expression was halfway between exasperation and disgust as he roughly brushed the sand from her clothes and hair, muttering under his breath about being “more fragile than a sugar-spun egg”. Emmeryn's heart sank even further.

 

“Leave me alone...” She whispered, unable to raise her voice any higher.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You-- you heard me. Just... go back home, leave me here. I-- I don't need your help.”

“You can't even walk on your own, girl. You clearly need more help than you think.” He was right... he was so right, and he didn't even realize it. She couldn't do anything on her own, she _did_ need help, but where could she get it from? There was only hatred and derision from every side. Whimpering slightly, the princess drew her knees to her chest, resting her head against them before she allowed herself to begin weeping.

 

“Oh, what are you crying for _now?_ It was just a little stumble- you're not even bleeding!” She shook her head silently. She couldn't tell him anything, even though, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to confess all her fears and worries. She wanted so badly to tell this Plegian boy whom she had just met everything that had been weighing on her for years, but she couldn't. She couldn't disclose such things to the enemy. So instead, she allowed herself to say aloud the one thing that had bothered her the most before she'd gotten stuck in her head.

 

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“Huh?” Sniffling, Emmeryn wiped her eyes on her sleeve, cringing at the rough grit that clung to her face.

“When I asked how much longer until we reached the outpost, you got so upset.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did!” She mentally flinched at her own anger, forcing herself to lower her voice. “Yes, you did... What did I do wrong?” Gangrel's expression had turned so awkward, she was even beginning to feel uncomfortable for him. When he spoke, his words were tight, as if they were being pulled from him under duress.

 

“You... didn't do... anything. I'm just...” He trailed off, and before the princess could ask what he was going to say, he grabbed her wrists and hauled her to her feet. “We really need to go. You don't want your caravan to leave you behind.” His pace was slower now, probably in a effort to ensure she did not fall flat on her face again, but his grip was almost painful on her wrist.

 

“Gangrel?” She called out to him quietly, but he made no sign that he even heard her. Curiosity and a niggling sense of guilt spurred her to call out to him again. “Gangrel--”

“You could at least _act_ like you aren't so eager to leave, you know.” His forceful, almost angry declaration took her by surprise.

“...what are you talking about?” The Plegian boy released her wrist, pulling his hand away from her in the process. He had slowed his pace to a crawl, but even though she could easily match his speed now, he seemed so much further away than before.

 

“I know you want to get back to your caravan, I know your family misses you and you miss them, but... why do you have to sound so eager to leave?” He turned around so suddenly that she flinched, but the miserable expression on his face kept her from drawing back even further. “What? Are you afraid if you stay too long, you'll be branded a Grimleal? Are you worried some of our heathenism might rub off on you?”

“No...” She whispered back.

“We aren't monsters!” His ire might've been frightening if she hadn't seen the tears welling up in his deep, crimson eyes. Emmeryn reached out, taking his hands, balled into tight, shaking fists, into her own.

“I know you aren't.” Her gentle affirmation seemed to have drained away his anger, and Gangrel let his head fall forward, his whole body slumped.

 

“I know it is stupid, I know there's no point in even thinking about such a thing, but... I had thought... I had _hoped_... that... maybe we could be friends...” She felt her heart tighten. Friends... now _there_ was a far off dream. Emmeryn did not have friends. She had tutors and guards and younger siblings and ladies-in-waiting... but no friends. Her father would not approve of such things- he believed that “friends” only hung around as long as you were useful to them, that they were parasites. But... he also believed that every Plegian was a monster hellbent on destroying the Yillisean way of life, and he was clearly wrong about that. Maybe he was wrong about the friend thing, too. She smiled slightly, heartened by that thought, as she squeezed Gangrel's hands tighter. He looked up at her, so miserable and pitiful that she just wanted to pat him on the head and tell him not to cry like she often did with Chrom, but... she doubted an older boy would take very kindly to that.

 

“I'd like to be your friend, Gangrel.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not! I mean it. Honestly, I've never had friends before, so I'm not sure I'd be very good at it, but I'm willing to try.” The Plegian boy stared at her for a long time, before his nose scrunched up with a badly concealed snort of laughter. “Why are you laughing at me?” She could not help her own ire rising; had he said that just to get a stir out of her?

 

“Do you ever hear the things that come out of your mouth? 'I'm not sure I'd be good at it, but I'm willing to try'! Stupid girl, you don't _try_ to be friends; you just do it! Just like you don't _try_ to live, you just _do_. ...I bet you do that, too; you _try_ to live.” He shook his head, but there was a hint of a grin playing around the corners of his mouth as he wound his hand in her own once more, leading her across the sand. “You Yilliseans are so strange. You need to just relax and let yourself exist. I don't know what teaching you 'Children of Naga' follow, but it clearly isn't helping you.” Emmeryn was inclined to agree, but she wasn't about to admit such a thing.

“You're lucky you're my friend, or I'd get very angry about that.”

 

The heat of the day had just begun to grown uncomfortable when the two young travelers came across what seemed like another oasis. Emmeryn could see the palms swaying in the distance, could practically feel the blessed relief of the shade they provided, could hear the murmur of people talking from the caravan-- the caravan? Blinking hard, the princess tried to focus her gaze, though it was hard to do when the air wavered so much. She could just make out the insignia on one of the wagons... yes! Yes, she'd recognize that seal anywhere. That was her Father's caravan. Laughing in delighted relief, Emmeryn began running towards the oasis, only to be forcefully pulled back by the iron grip on her wrist. Gangrel dragged her over to an outcropping of rocks, his back pressed against them as he motioned for her to be quiet. Hesitantly, he peered around the edge of the their makeshift wall.

 

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him. “Why did you stop me?”

“Are you blind, girl? That is the Yillisean army!” He hissed back.

“...and?”

“ 'And'? And they are vicious, blood-thirsty demons! They will hack you into little pieces and roast you over an open fire to feed to their horses!” The utter ridiculousness of that entire sentence was nearly enough to send Emmeryn into a fit of giggles, but she held back. Instead, she forced herself to remain solemn.

 

“Yilliseans aren't monsters.” She said quietly, echoing his own words.

“No, but their soldiers are. I don't trust anyone who's paid to kill other people...” Well, he had a point about that. It would've been so easy to explain everything if he knew who she was, if he knew that _this_ was the caravan that she was looking for, that her father was there somewhere... but he didn't know. So all she could do was lie.

“My family knows a lot of soldiers. There's probably someone who knows me there.” It wasn't a complete lie. Still, Gangrel seemed reluctant to let her go. The unease in his face made it clear he was worried, worried the same thing would happen to her what had happened to his kinsmen. His concern was touching.

 

“I'm not sure... I mean, you _are_ Yillisean, but...”

“I will be fine.”

“How will I know if you're not? I can't walk there with you; they'd kill me on sight. And once you return to your family, I won't see you anymore... I won't know if you're alive or dead or anything...” The pain and fear and sadness in his voice clutched at her heart, and before she could even think about the words she wanted to say, they were spilling out over her tongue.

 

“I'll come back to Plegia one day. After the war. You said you would be part of the king's court, right? So I'll know where to look for you.”

“Yeah...” His voice sounded weak and quiet, but as he looked down at her, a small ember of hope seemed to light up within him once more. “Yeah, you're right! After all, this war can't last forever. And when it ends, we will see each other again, yes?”

“Yes!” His smile back in place, the older boy rested a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Gods be with you, Emmeryn.”

“And with you, Gangrel.” Inhaling deeply, she stepped out from behind the outcrop and set her sights on the caravan. It wasn't too far away; she could get there quickly if she ran, but her feet felt like she was dragging them through cold honey. She glanced back towards the boulders, feeling her eyes sting in a way that had nothing to do with the sand in the air as she saw a head of unruly carmine hair peeking out from behind it. Slowly, Gangrel raised his hand in one last farewell, before he pulled back, vanishing in the blink of an eye. It would've been easy to convince herself that the whole thing had been a mirage, the desert sands playing tricks on her...

000

 

Once she had made it back to the royal caravan, the soldiers had been utterly delighted with her safe return, thanking the gods for having delivered their princess from harm. Her father was not so ebullient, demanding to know where she had gotten off to, and how she had survived. She had told him the truth, that she had dozed off and awoken to find that she'd been left behind, but was much more reluctant to include her Plegian friend's involvement. She didn't want her father to be angry, and she knew he would be. But as he continued yelling at her, demanding, _ordering_ her to tell him the truth, she could not suppress the fear roiling in the pit of her stomach. The exalt's anger was always a terrible thing, but so much more so when it was directed at her. Despite her best intentions not to, she broke down, unable to stem the flow of tears as she insisted that she had been _rescued_ , not “kidnapped”. That her _hosts_ were kind people who fed and sheltered her, not that her “captors” “tortured” her. She hadn't “escaped”, she'd been _escorted_ back, very kindly might she add, far kinder than the exalt was being with her at the moment.

 

Pain, along with a metallic taste, exploded in her mouth as the back of her father's hand met it. He was going to graciously ignore her rude remarks, because it was clear those heathen Grimleal had brainwashed her. Nothing she said made any difference, nothing changed his mind, so she only shook her head miserably as one of the war monks in the retinue gently escorted her back towards the tents so he could heal the cut on her swollen lip. She did not speak to her father, nor take in anything he had to say, for the rest of the trip. When they finally returned to Yillistol, he sent out a missive to double the number of soldiers fighting on the front lines, with the order for them to kill any and all Plegians on sight. It was a small wonder she only felt a sense of bitter disdain when he finally died.

000

 

There was so much upheaval and discontent in Yillse after the war that the only way she could focus on her people's needs was to block out everything else. Audiences with foreign leaders all had to be put on the back burner as she tried her hardest to have families reunited with their loved ones, to lower the taxes on bread and produce, to assure her people that, so long as she was exalt, Yillse would never again be pulled into another fruitless war. It was only in passing that she heard that the Plegian king, King... Deimos, if she wasn't mistaken, had passed away. She didn't even know who had taken over in his place- the last she heard, his only child and heir had died young. It was probably a member of the Grimleal, they held all the power in Plegia. Well, that wasn't her problem; the Plegians were free to do as they wished.

 

When things finally calmed down enough for her to once again breathe, she found herself looking over a letter from the Khan Regnant of Ferox, the west Khan who's name was Basilio. She remembered him vaguely from her trip to Ferox with her father, a hulking giant of a man with a boisterous laugh who remarked that the Yillse was lucky to have such a lovely heir to their throne. The Khan had invited her back to Ferox, to discuss lowering trade taxes further, perhaps give her a bit of advice on dealing with unruly smallfolk, and offer a short respite from all the general “pains in the ass” that came with ruling a nation. She agreed without a second thought, desperate to get away from it all if only for a few days. Whilst she and her small retinue of guards traveled, they were met with another letter from the Khan. It seems that she was not going to be the only royal he was entertaining, as the newly crowned King of Plegia was going to be there was well, discussing their alliance (it was well known that West Ferox often allied with Plegia, while East Ferox sided with Yillse- the country's troops supported the country affiliated with the reigning Khan).

 

It might be nice to meet the neighboring king under less formal pretenses, a sentiment with which she whole-heartedly agreed. As they traveled with burning sands, Emmeryn kept her eyes out for any signs of Plegian caravans. She wasn't really expecting to see them; they would be far from whatever trail they were following, but thinking of them filled her with a sense of nostalgia. She thought of the boy she had been friends with, if only for one day. Had he made his way into the king's court, like he had dreamed? Or had he perished during the war like so many others? She silently prayed to Naga that it was the former. Perhaps she could even ask the new king if he had any red-headed players in his court.

 

Ferox was as cold and hostile as she remembered, but it's people were warm and accommodating. It seemed odd, that the harsher the land, the kinder the people seemed to be. Khan Basilio. hadn't changed a bit, either, lifting her up by the waist with a hearty laugh, just as he had when she was child, remarking that she hadn't changed a bit, “only got prettier!” Despite the heat rising in her cheeks, she would not allow herself to get flustered, quickly thanking him for granting her an audience.

 

“Gwahaha! You kids and your formalities! Is this something I'm going to have to expect _every_ time you come to visit? I hope not; I need to see a little liveliness from such young, pretty rulers. Bad enough Plegia's new king's got a sword up his ass; I don't need that from _both_ sides of the continent.” The Khan led her and her retainer, a young Falcon Knight named Philla, to the throne room. “You two are too damn young to be so hardened and jaded. I know both of you went through hell during the war, but there'll be plenty of time to let that get to you when you're old and washed up like me. Hahaha!”

 

So the new king was young? She didn't know why that struck her as odd- perhaps because she simply had a mental image of kings being stuffy old men. As she stepped into the throne room, Emmeryn paused. It was deserted, save for one figure standing by the window. It seemed to be a man, for they were very tall, wearing a long, yellow robe the color of sunshine, or lemons. His back was towards them, and she could see him tracing one finger along the chilled glass. Basilio. laughed loudly, his booming voice echoing even louder through the empty room.

 

“I know snow's a novelty to you Plegians, but you can see frozen water any 'ol day. Turn around; there's someone I wanna introduce you to.” Slowly, the man she could only assume was the king of Plegia, turned to face them. His cloak was the only bright thing about him, she noticed, taking in his black attire- he even wore a ruff of black fur, sable if she had to guess. But Plegians wore black, that was to be expected, even if the cut of his clothes seemed almost Yillisean. No, what wasn't expected was the face above the sable; ashen skin and unruly crimson curls pushed back from his brow by a thin, golden crown. She had seen a face like that, only a few years ago (had it really only been a _few_ years ago? She felt like she had been so young then...), a thin face with dark crimson eyes and a wide smile full of confidence. A far cry from the stone faced young man currently boring holes into her skull. Basilio. walked over to him, giving him a hearty slap on the back. That kind of blow, even in jest, would've sent Emmeryn sprawling on the ground. The Plegian king didn't even flinch, his eyes never leaving her face.

 

“This is Gangrel. Apparently, he was a solider under King Deimos' reign. I'd probably question that line of succession a bit more if Plegia weren't in such dire straits and in desperate need of leadership.” So... apparently being a player was too dear a dream in a war torn land... “Welp, whatever he was, he seems to have a pretty good handle on things; I was honestly expecting a lot more looting and pillaging than what's been going on. Gangrel, this is-- uhm...” The king did not wait for his host to finish making his introductions, approaching Emmeryn in four long strides. He stood not a foot from her, and she had to crane her neck back in order to see his face. He'd grown. A lot. It was nearly impossible to see the face of the boy she'd once applauded for his acrobatics in the cold, silent spectre looming over her. His features were thinner, sharper, his neatly trimmed goatee almost out of place with the hollow look in his eyes, the dark bags beneath them indicative of someone who has not slept in a very long time.

 

“...Exalt Emmeryn...” His voice was hoarser, more ragged, the lilting trill of his “R's” no longer there. She shrank back from him. Basilio. laughed again, though not as heartily as he normally would have.

“Her reputation precedes her, it seems.”

“No.” Gangrel did take his eyes off her, slowly reaching up to trace one long, jagged nail across her Brand. She knew Philla was tensing behind her. “I knew a girl named 'Emmeryn', once. When I was young, before the war ended. I found her lost in the desert, separated from her caravan- I thought she was a traveling merchant... I brought her home, so she wouldn't be eaten by the Wyverns... My mother cooked a feast for her, and we talked about our dreams... And less than a month later, the Yillisean soldiers came to my village and burned it to the ground.” He dug his nail deeper into her flesh, the ragged edge catching on her skin tearing it. While she winced, the man above her remained as impassive as ever.

“They slaughtered _everyone_. The only people left there were the women and children- all the men had been conscripted. And when the exalt died and his daughter, 'Emmeryn' took to the throne... boy, did I feel silly. If I'd payed a little more attention to that _strange_ birthmark... well, my mother always told me not to stare. My mother, who died in front of my eyes. Along with everyone else I'd ever known, hacked to pieces and left to burn. Every time I smell smoke now, it makes me retch. All because the sound of girls crying made my skin crawl. Isn't that silly?” Emmeryn pulled away from him, unable to bear looking into those dull, listless eyes that drilled into hers. Almost as an after thought, she pressed her hand to her Brand, hissing in pain. When she pulled it away, her fingers were spotted with red.

 

“Gangrel--”

“That's _King_ Gangrel to you, Missy. Or do you not recognize heathens as sovereigns?”

“Hey now, there's no need for--”

“You _know_ I don't think you're a heathen! I-- I had no idea your village was attacked. I am so sorry, you _must_ believe me!”

 

“All I believe of Yillisean royalty is that they're lying, murdering _fiends_.” He hissed at her, baring his teeth. They were still so bright against his skin, so sharp. “What did you tell daddy dearest I did to you, hmm? Did you tell him I raped you? That I tried to sacrifice you to Grima? I know you told him something.”

“I told him that you were kind, and that he was wrong for thinking Plegians were evil!” She couldn't control the volume of her voice as tears burned her eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much, knowing she was responsible for his pain. She could distance herself from the calumny she endured in Yillse for, even though she felt terrible for the losses her people endured, she knew that she'd had nothing to do with that. That had all been her father's fault. But this? Gangrel was right- if he hadn't tried to help her, then her father wouldn't have gotten it into his head to order that final all-out attack against Plegia. But still... it hurt so bad for him to throw that in her face. She wished she could shut her eyes and cover her ears so she wouldn't have to listen to him snipe at her, but she was the Exalt. She had to face her problems head on, not run from them.

 

“I bet you forgot all about me when you were back safe and sound and all cozy in your castle. I didn't forget about you. Every day, I hoped and prayed that you made it home safely, that those demon soldiers didn't do to you the same thing they did to my people... and for what? What did I waste my prayers on? The spawn of the man who took everything from me? I should've been praying for his death instead.” He spat at her. Under her cloak, Emmeryn balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms, focusing on the pain to steel herself. Basilio. had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time- it seemed that had all been news to him as well- but as the cold, hollow look in Gangrel's eyes began darkening into hatred, the Feroxi man stepped between the two younger rulers.

 

“Okay now, that's enough. Gangrel, son... you know deep in your heart that all the shit that happened to you isn't Emmeryn's fault. You can't blame her for what her father did.”

“Oh, I think you'll find I _can_ , Khan Basilio. When her children slaughter yours, _then_ you can talk to me about where to appoint blame, but until then, I'll ask you to mind your own damn business. You clearly have your hands full, so I'll send an envoy to discuss the use of our ports.” He brushed past the older man, his cloak snapping as he walked, pausing beside Emmeryn. Those once hopeful eyes now held naught but loathing.

 

“The only kindness I can offer you now, Exalt Emmeryn, is my sincerest hope that I never see your face again. Because if we _do_ meet, you'll find that I'm much less inclined to help you stay alive these days.”

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A/N- Man, that almost had a romantic vibe going for it for a while, didn't it? But nope, pure friendship fluff! Until the end... I love Gangrel; he is a sad, lonely man, and I always imagine that he was a sad, lonely child as well. Ever since I got him and Emmeryn as SpotPass characters, I couldn't shake the idea that, Awmigods, it's be so cute if they knew each other as kids. Not like, enough to be friends, but if they had met in passing and that meeting kind of stuck with them. I don't ship Gangrel and Emmeryn as a couple- Gangrel/FeMU and Emmeryn/Walhart are my preferred ships, thank you very much- but I LOVE these two in a bromance.

Also, I like to think that there are two breeds of Plegians- the pale skinned ones (like Henry, Tharja and MyUnit) who probably live on the coastal side of Plegia (where the sun isn't as strong), and the... more exotic looking ones (Gangrel, Validar and Aversa) who hail from the desert. I love thinking that desert-dwelling Plegians look like dark elves (that gray complexion is too cool to not form crazy WMG), and that Gangrel is biracial, explaining his strangely pale gray skin, and that the very dark gray that Validar has is actually a very recessive trait, explaining why MyUnit is pale as a ghost (that would also explain why a Morgan fathered by Gangrel is super pale as well, though I always picture Morgan with gray skin in my head cannon).


End file.
